10
on Monte Albán the danzantes
sway to soft music
their shadows dance in and on stone
as they have danced for centuries
wind rustles the grass
moon casts sharp shapes
darkness ascends the temple steps
huge fingers grasping upwards
an owl’s feathers clutching at the skies
at dawn tomorrow
the sun will rise beneath our feet
we will squint down on its majesty
we will pluck the ripeness of its orange
in our outstretched hands
11
our last night together
I pluck a blossom from the tulipán tree
a final offering of my love
she gives it back
I place it in the pocket of flesh
where I once kept my heart
tomorrow when the flower breaks
it will stain my shirt
a damp splash of blood
no longer running in my veins
the scent of our happiness
will cling forever to my fingers
An interesting thing about this series is that in the beginning it doesn’t have the feel of Oaxaca but it slowly builds in the second half. Love this, and again glad you shared it here!
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It’s inherent (I think) in the wooden mask, the cotton garments, and the traditional Oaxacan musical instruments. However, it does grow throughout the piece.
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Right! A wooden mask and cotton dress on their own – not obvious, but then you layer upon layer the visuals and it takes you there!
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Damn, did you write this one Roger? Very good and we love the picture. I’ve got a rough draft out for a short called eaten an Eskimo, I’m thinking about publishing it, but need an editor. Please come by and let us know what you think
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Yup: it’s the last two stanzas in an 11 stanza sequence. It’s from my book Sun and Moon. The whole sequence is available here. https://rogermoorepoet.com/2017/02/24/the-dancer-and-the-dance/ I’ll drop by and check your story out! Best wishes and thanks for the visit.
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Thanks roger
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Love…Love…Love! My book should be here tomorrow!
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So pleased on both counts. I’ll e-mail you separately.
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This is beautifully written
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Thank you, Shane. It is one of my favorite poems. Has its roots deep in the consumption of Oaxacan mescal, I guess. Hence the fuzzy lights in the photo.
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